The first tiny leaves are appearing on my rose bushes, and once again, probably irrationally, I'm hoping for a mass of luscious blossoms.
Almost three years ago, after a series of mishaps, including an ice storm one year, and a late spring hard frost the next, my roses were struggling to make a comeback.
I looked out of my studio window one afternoon to see a new threat to my hopes for beauty and fragrance. Two fawns had wandered near the house, and one of them decided to help himself to the rose bush. He was much too winsome to chase away, and only when their mother called from the edge of the woods, did the two of them leave the rose bush for something far more nutritious.
Those cute little fawns grew up and had offspring who thought the roses were their birthright, and last year, the grandchildren were helping themselves, too.
As vegetation changes from year, so do the patterns of the wildlife. The deer haven't been in evidence as much this year, and they seem more skittish when they are around, so maybe, just maybe, we'll have roses.
Hope springs eternal.
